First Comes Marriage

by Sophia Sasson

  But she’s already found Mr. Right...

  She would rather call her impending nuptials planned than arranged, but she’s certain her fiancé is her perfect match. Still, Dr. Meera Malhotra jumps at the opportunity to spend the month before her wedding doing a medical rotation in small-town USA. Getting a taste of independence and improving public health are both part of her plan. Falling for a cowboy? Not so much. Jake Taylor is totally wrong for her, anyway: he raises cattle; she’s a vegetarian. He’s content with life on the ranch; she’s from bustling London and wants to travel. She couldn’t possibly throw away everything she’s built over something as illogical as love.

  Meera screamed as the mechanical bull bucked underneath them.

  Jake felt her shift in the seat, and he tightened his hold on her hand, gripping her firmly at the waist to steady her. He had ridden this bull a thousand times, but riding it with Meera...hmm.

  His body was now molded against hers, and they rolled and moved in unison as the bull bucked. She was laughing so hard, her head snapped sideways and she lost her balance. He reached for her and... They landed on wood chips, Meera first. He braced his arms so he wouldn’t crush her.

  The crowd went wild, cheering, whistling and screaming louder than ever. He looked into her glittering eyes. He didn’t know if it was the adrenaline from the bull ride, or just...Meera...but his heart was galloping like a prize-winning race horse.

  This girl is going to be the end of me.

  Dear Reader,

  Marriage makes us face the conflicting worlds of familial traditions, our own values and beliefs, and what we envision for the future. First Comes Marriage is the story of Meera, a woman firmly rooted in her family who grapples with her Indian cultural beliefs and the permanent ache in her heart that comes from wanting something she’s never had...what we all want: unconditional love.

  Meera is engaged to a family friend in London. It’s a marriage arranged between families with ties so strong, breaking them will unravel Meera’s whole world. So what’s she supposed to do when she falls for an American cowboy?

  While I was writing this story, I laughed, cried and snorted tea from my nose. I hope you’ll enjoy the fusion of Western romance with epic, Bollywood-style drama.

  To learn more about arranged marriages, past to present, East to West, or to find out where in the world Bollywood is, visit my website at sophiasasson.com. I also have a playlist by chapter of country tunes and Bollywood music to put you in the mood as you read. Plus free extras on the town, recipes for barbecue and vegetable curry, and more. I love hearing from readers, so please find me on Twitter (@SophiaSasson) or Facebook (SophiaSassonAuthor), or email me at Readers@SophiaSasson.com.

  Enjoy!

  Sophia

  First Comes Marriage

  Sophia Sasson

  Sophia Sasson puts her childhood habit of daydreaming to good use by writing stories that go to the heart of human relationships. Sophia was born in Bombay, India, has lived in the Canary Islands, Spain, and Toronto, Canada, and currently calls the madness of Washington, DC, home. She loves to read, travel to exotic locations in the name of research, bake, explore water sports, watch foreign movies and hear from readers. Contact her through sophiasasson.com.

  To my husband. You make me believe that love really does conquer all.

  Acknowledgments

  This book, and the ones to come, are thanks to my wonderful editor Claire Caldwell, who had faith in my writing from the start, and Victoria Curran, who finds me interesting enough to put up with. Their feedback is invaluable.

  My writing has come a long way thanks to my fabulous critique partner, author Jayne Evans, who knows how to ground me without clipping my wings.

  Also, thanks to the wonderfully supportive romance writers and authors I’ve met through Facebook and online communities. I’m grateful to be part of this group that shares successes, and to help each other achieve our happily-ever-afters.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  EXCERPT FROM A FAMILY LIKE HANNAH’S BY CAROL ROSS

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I DON’T MEAN to disturb you...”

  “Then don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Disturb me.”

  Meera sighed in frustration. Americans! Does he have to be so rude? She stood on her tiptoes, peeking over the stall door. She could only see his back. White T-shirt, snug jeans streaked with mud and a straw cowboy hat. He knelt in front of a black mare who whinnied as he lifted her leg.

  Meera took a breath. The air was thick with the smell of animal manure. “Pardon me,” she said more forcefully. “I understand you have a room to let.”

  He turned and her breath caught. Too much dust in the air. Green eyes sparkled mischievously, sandy-blond hair glistened angelically in the sunlight and a broad smile showed straight, white teeth. All perfectly packaged in a tall, athletic body. She blinked.

  “‘To let’? Is that French for ‘toilet’?” he drawled.

  Thank you for changing your image from American cowboy to Forrest Gump.

  She put on her best finishing-school smile. When in Rome... She had to remember to speak redneck.

  “Sorry, it’s British for ‘do you have a room for rent?’”

  He stood, surveying her. She smoothed her black pantsuit, wishing for the millionth time she’d dressed more casually, especially in this oppressive heat. He patted his hands on his jeans, sending up clouds of dirt. She sneezed and instinctively brushed her arms. “Why would the Queen of England want a room at my dusty ranch?” The tone was sardonic, his eyes crinkling.

  She pressed her lips together. She would rather leave than deal with such arrogance, but this was her last option for a place to stay tonight. This being her first time in America, she really didn’t want to test her precarious, wrong-side-of-the-road driving skills to search for accommodations in the dark. “If you must know—”

  “I must.” He mimicked her tone and accent.

  She took a short breath. Keep your cool—remember you made the decision to be in this middle-of-nowhere town. “I’m doing a medical rotation with Dr. Harper.” Des
pite her frustration, she couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. Even if she couldn’t be in New York, she would still get a month to herself and a much-needed break from wedding planning. She wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—spoil it for her.

  “Ah, lemme guess—Marty said you couldn’t stay at his inn.”

  “And it seems you would be able to tell me why.”

  His eyes danced with amusement. “Because the town doesn’t want you to stay.”

  She tapped a finger against her thigh. I’ve only been here a day. What could I possibly have done to turn a whole town against me?

  He opened the stall door, and Meera took a step back. He leaned forward, and she took another step back. He towered over her. She was only five feet tall and he was north of six. He smelled of dirt, sweat and something...manly. She shifted. Why must he stand so close?

  He wiped a hand on his jeans and held it out to her. “Jake Taylor.”

  He raised his eyebrows as she eyed his hand, still caked with dirt. She took it, meeting his gaze and feeling the gritty roughness of his skin.

  “Meera Malhotra.”

  “Ah, what now?”

  “Mee-ra Mal-hot-ra,” she said more slowly.

  “Well, that’s quite a name. Welcome to Hell’s Bells.”

  “Hell’s Bells? I thought the town name was Bellhaven.”

  “The townspeople call it Hell’s Bells. There’s a story behind it.”

  He let go of her hand and picked up her suitcase. Apparently, she was not going to hear the story today. She followed him out of the barn, struggling to keep up with him in her heels as he strode across the field. The point of her heel kept getting stuck in the mud. He looked back, his lips curved in a smirk.

  “Bollocks!” She reached down and took off her shoes, noticing the ruined heels. So much for the Manolo Blahniks. This was not the place for her London wardrobe.

  “Are you coming, princess?”

  “I thought I was the Queen of England!”

  “You’ve been demoted.”

  She rolled her eyes; he would be a handful.

  He extended his arm, offering his hand to her. She eyed it warily, not wanting to touch him again.

  “Come on now, I don’t have all day waitin’ on your delicate feet to make the trek.”

  She sighed and took his hand. It was warm and large. Grass and clover tickled her feet as he firmly but gently tugged her across the field.

  They arrived at a gravel road. She slipped her shoes back on and eyed the big stately house at the end of it.

  Wow! The place could have been Tara from Gone with the Wind, one of her favorite movies. Ivy grew up the white stone walls. There was a wraparound porch on the main level and a balcony on the second story. They climbed a set of brick steps that led to the front door. Jake opened it and set her suitcase down.

  Her eyes widened as she took in the two-level foyer. A double staircase wound up to the second floor, and worn-out gilding begged to be shined on the banisters. Dark wood floorboards were covered in a light blanket of dust. A coffered ceiling replete with cobwebs finished the look. Meera’s home was considered a small palace, especially by London standards, but this house was something else. Despite the grandeur, it lacked the stuffiness of aristocracy. Black-and-white family pictures, some yellowed with age, hung on the walls in different-sized frames. There was a spaciousness and welcoming charm that was missing in her family home.

  “This is beautiful.” Her heels tapped the floor as she walked over to a door and touched the handle. She immediately brushed the dust off her hands. “Why are these closed?”

  “It’s an old estate and very hard to keep up. We close the rooms we don’t use.”

  Meera nodded as if it made complete sense. But why wouldn’t you maintain your home?

  “There’s no kitchen in the guesthouse, so you can use the one in the back here.” He pointed to the only open doorway. “I try to keep the fridge stocked for the ranch hands. Help yourself to anything you want.” He grabbed a set of keys.

  “Come on, your house is this way.”

  My house? He took her around the side of the building. Meera gaped at the small stone cottage. Pretty rose vines crawled up the side. The front yard was overgrown with weeds, but she could already see the possibility of a proper English garden. Jake opened the front door.

  Inside, all the furniture was covered with white sheets.

  “You’ll have to dust things out...been a while since anyone was in here.”

  Was it her imagination, or did his face flicker with sadness?

  He showed Meera two bedrooms, a living room and a bathroom.

  “This is quite a guest cottage. Has it always been here?”

  “It used to be the servants’ quarters. I gutted it several years ago and made it into a house for...” His expression changed into something Meera couldn’t read. “Into a guesthouse.”

  Meera looked around and felt excitement bubble through her. This is just perfect—exactly what I need. It would take some work to clean up, but it was quaint and peaceful and all hers. For a whole month she wouldn’t have to answer to anyone, live up to expectations or deal with her usual obligations. Freedom! Spending a month in this small town was a small price to pay.

  “This is wonderful, thank you. What will you charge?”

  “How about an exchange of services?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Meera’s muscles tightened. Maybe she’d been too quick to judge Jake. She suddenly realized that she had walked into a place all alone, trusting a complete stranger.

  “You’re a doctor, right?”

  She nodded, relieved.

  “My ranch hands haven’t seen a doctor in years. I have twelve people—three women and nine men. I’d like you to give them a physical here on the ranch, make sure they’re good.”

  Meera frowned. “Why don’t they have a primary care doctor?”

  “They don’t have health insurance. I’ve been looking into gettin’ them some.”

  “Oh,” she said simply. She knew America didn’t have a National Health Service, but didn’t people with jobs have benefits? What could she possibly do on the ranch without a proper clinic or medical supplies? Her father had given her his old-fashioned doctor’s bag with a stethoscope and basic supplies when she completed medical school at King’s College. She considered it a sentimental gift but was glad she’d brought it along. “I’d be happy to do what I can for them, but if they need blood work, X-rays or any tests, they’ll have to come to the clinic or possibly the hospital. I really can’t do much by myself here.”

  He nodded. “Most of ’em can’t afford to see a doctor. Just having you do a checkup will be more than they’ve gotten in years.”

  Years without seeing a doctor? Her father’s medical practice in London was full of affluent patients; that’s why her supervisor had insisted she do this small-town rotation before he would sign off on the completion certificate for her research doctorate. She had tried to talk him into letting her go to New York—her father had even pulled some strings to line up a placement there—but her supervisor wouldn’t budge. He’d said she needed to understand how “real” people received medicine.

  Maybe this would work out better than she’d expected. “It’s settled, then. And I insist on paying for my groceries.”

  He glanced at her appraisingly, and she warmed under his gaze. “I doubt you’ll put a dent in our stock.” Jake waved as he stepped over the threshold to leave.

  She stared at him. Her best friend and cousin, Priya, would look at someone like Jake and get giggly. Meera could objectively acknowledge his handsomeness, but she saw the swagger that came with it. Not at all like Raj.

  “Before you leave, could you tell me why the town doesn’t want me to stay?”

 
He turned back and laughed. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”

  Her phone chirped, distracting her. She took it out of her purse and looked at the screen. Her mother probably had another wedding-planning crisis. She needed to take the call.

  * * *

  “HURRY IT UP, sun’s almost up.” Jake drained his coffee and stood. Most of his staff were gathered for breakfast. It wasn’t quite six in the morning, but the room was brightening. He wondered whether Meera would be up early; she must be jet-lagged. He hadn’t seen her since he’d shown her to the guest cottage last evening.

  He would never forget the image of her standing in his barn. She wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d heard about what happened in town yesterday. The way everyone was talking, he figured she would show up at his door eventually. He hadn’t planned on letting her stay—he didn’t need any more gossip about him going around—but something made him change his mind.

  What was Meera’s deal, anyway? Why would she want to come to his little town? From the clothes she was wearing, those ridiculous heels, not to mention the fancy luggage, she obviously didn’t need the money.

  He felt a punch on his shoulder. “Earth to Jake! What’re the orders, boss?”

  He shook his head to clear Meera from his brain, then quickly barked out the day’s assignments.

  “Billy John, it’s your turn to make dinner. And please, none of that awful chili you made last time.”

  Billy John began to defend himself to a chorus of insults, and Jake slapped him good-naturedly. Suddenly, his eye caught a flash of yellow in the doorway.

  “Ah, this is our new renter, or ‘paying guest,’ as she would call herself.” He said the last part in a British accent.

  She rolled her eyes. What’s wrong with me?

  She peered into the kitchen, her movements tentative. She looked different in a simple yellow sundress; the color complemented her milk-chocolate skin. Her big brown eyes were awestruck, her already petite frame even tinier in the soaring doorway. The room went unusually quiet.

  He glanced around his kitchen and realized what an overwhelming sight they all made. Nine burly men and three loud women would intimidate anyone.